Troubled Water
by EncyclopediaGalactica
Summary: Formerly a one-shot songfic set to the Simon and Garfunkel song Bridge over Troubled Water. Now just a one-shot.


Thanking StoryWeaver854 for her swift informing of the previous infringement of the site guidelines. I have, as you may see, made modifications most swiftly to form the work to the guides. Those unfortunate readers not already well versed with the work of Simon & Garfunkel should perhaps shimmy on down to their nearest video streaming site and look them up. It's well worth the time.

* * *

It had been several years since the war had finally ended, on that fateful day of fire and ice and rage.

The first visit was undertaken grudgingly. He'd only done it because Aang had asked him to. He arrived expecting a monster, or a madwoman.

* * *

Instead, he'd found a sad, broken girl who had lost everything she held dear. Her friends, her status, even that which had almost defined her existance, her bending. As he stood outside her cell, feeling almost guilty - _which was just stupid, it wasn't his fault_ - she had looked up, her gaze empty and lifeless.

* * *

He started making monthly visits to see her, hoping that somehow he was helping her. It became almost a ritual, his monthly pilgrimage. It had also become his obsession. Every time, though, she just looked at him with the same hollow stare.

* * *

Eventually, desperate to do _something_ tangible to help, he got ahold of her records, and discovered something somewhat disturbing. She'd been being dosed with bending suppressants, sedatives, and a cocktail of other drugs by the staff, though it was listed in the later reports as "safety measures, assorted".

* * *

He'd gone to Zuko, but the young Fire Lord had seemed to only be half-listening - _perhaps understandably considering their relationship in the past, but still, she's his _sister - and had dismissed his concerns with an assurance that he would get someone to have someone take a look at it. A month later, and he had heard nothing. By then, he had begun considering taking matters into his own hands. In the end, though, it had been the dream that decided matters.

* * *

In the dream, he was alone in the middle of the sea, drifting on a platform of ice. There had been _things_ in the fog that he still refused to think about, mostly for his own sanity, and he flew into a panic when a quiet _bump_ sounded, rocking his iceberg slightly. Spinning around, he was confronted by a crude wooden raft, with only one occupant. He'd dragged her onto the ice before he took the time to examine her and ascertain her identity, though he could guess, with the kind of oddly uncertain clarity you sometimes get in dreams, and recognised her. Then he'd woken up, with the decision made.

* * *

As to the actual getting-her-out process, that was fairly simple, requiring little more than some fast bluffing, a fast horse, several fast changes of clothes, a fast ship - _so not that simple, really _- and the most steadfastly immobile poker face of all time when Zuko had confronted him about it.

Twelve days after the escape, - _the not-very-widely-publicised escape _- he woke up to see a pair of bright golden eyes staring into his as she stood over him, angry, confused, and extremely suspicious - _though considering the circumstances, that wasn't unreasonable_ -

Sokka put down his brush and turned to face her. "Hey," he said, mock-indignantly, "I'm trying to write a third-person memoir!"

"I've noticed. It's probably the way you keep composing it aloud." Azula replied, smiling faintly. She had been providing her commentary while scrutinising a slightly faded map and copying it - with several changes made for accuracy - onto a newer sheet.

"Well, it doesn't help that you keep ruining my concentration!" he shot back, grinning. The bantering had become part of the everyday routine ever since- He started writing again - Ever since she'd properly recovered from the after-effects of the chemicals she'd been pumped full of in the asylum. Waking to find her threatening him with his own sword and demanding he tell her what in the hells was going on was probably not the best way to start off. After he'd managed to stop her from rather ironically turning him into a skewer of meat - _though probably not a very tasty one_ - "Hey!"

-Fin-

* * *

I do hope you enjoyed that. If you didn't, or did but think I could do better, or perhaps are just bitter and angry because you were forced to read a really awful fic and decided to take your excess frustration out on my dear little self, feel free to leave a review. Please note that this was written in the small hours of the morning, which I find to be both the best time for inspiration and the worst time for proofing.


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